


Steamy ChloNath Drabbles

by musiclvr1112



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alcohol, All chapters unrelated, BDSM, Bickering, Dom!Chloe, Drunk Sex, F/M, Hair touching, Married Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Paint Kink, Seduction, Self-Indulgent, Steamy, basically smut, body painting, but still, dom!nath, hangovers, like it's not quite smut, lmao that wasn't supposed to be a pun but it totally is, nath comes in many forms, paint, sub!Chloe, sub!nath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10048406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclvr1112/pseuds/musiclvr1112
Summary: Just a bunch of unrelated steamy chlonath drabbles that I write over time.





	1. Just a Minute

Nathanaël crawled up the bed and plopped himself down on top of Chloé’s legs, his chin resting on his hands folded over her stomach. Her only indication that she even noticed him was to hold up her index finger as her thumbs typed away on her smartphone. The message was clear: wait. He knew that would never fly with her. If she were to demand his attention, any resistance—even momentary—would be futile. He knew because it had happened. Repeatedly.

Like that one time when he had hurt his back and was confined to the bed all day and had thus been trying to sketch some simple stuff while sitting up against a mountain of pillows. Well into his sketching, Chloé had come about and announced her presence by bending her knees underneath her and sitting back on her ankles right in front of him. A glance over the top of his sketch book told him what she wanted, and his response was “just a minute.” But a minute he did not get. Not even 30 seconds. The blonde seemed to have taken that as a challenge, crawling on her hands and knees over to his left side, leaning in close so he couldn’t smell anything but her intoxicating perfume, and grazing her lips against his neck. A shuddering breath had been drawn out of him and a line went astray on his paper. “Chloé, please, just a— _ahh_.” Her teeth nibbling on his ear had forced him to drop his pencil then. He could feel her smile as her tongue traced his skin, and his eyes closed against his own will. Next thing he knew, she had replaced the sketch book on his lap and, well, that was the end of that.

And yet now here she was, lying down on the bed in only her tank top, no bra, and panties, the smooth skin of her lower stomach exposed from the shirt riding up, and he was being told to wait while she finished her text. Nathanaël huffed in mock annoyance, but ultimately did nothing. In fact, he smiled. He felt like he should be bothered, but he really wasn’t. He had always been a patient soul, and quite frankly, she wasn’t. And that was okay. More than okay, actually—not that he would ever admit that. She could be patient when she needed to be. But if she didn’t need to be—and in Chloé’s world, she rarely needed to be—she wasn’t. And well…he couldn’t _really_ complain about being seduced by his wife. That drawing wasn’t really going anywhere anyway.

He watched as her deep-seated scowl finally relaxed and she threw her phone aside. Bright blue eyes fell down to him and she smiled. “Hi.”

With as much of a seductive smile as he could pull, Nathanaël rose to his elbows and knees and moved in closer until he hovered over her, brushing a chaste kiss against her lips. “Hi.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What are you playing?”

“Playing?” He dipped down to let his words softly caress her ear. “Why Madame Kurtzberg what ever could you be referring to?” She tried to hide it, but he didn’t miss the swell in her breast as she drew in a deep breath.

Her lips found his ear and whispered, “I wonder…” Desire shot right through him like a spark of electricity as her cold hands found his waist, sliding up under his shirt and raising goose bumps along his skin.

“It seems to me that _you’re_ the one playing, _mon amour_.” He could feel her grip on his torso tighten as his breath trickled against her neck. He followed the words with a light graze of his teeth.

“You started it,” she whispered, voice thick with desire. She proceeded to part her legs underneath him and use her grip on his waist to drag him down until he was nestled between her thighs. One small movement of her hips and he was no longer in the mood to merely play.

“And now I’m ending it.” His lips finally crashed against hers then, and they were lost.


	2. Yes Sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a request on tumblr: "Maybe write a dominant Nath and a sub Chloe. I'm working on that myself, but i wanted to see other's take on it"

Chloé’s head was swimming. Face flushed. Gasping for air. She felt a bead of sweat roll down her neck and into the crevice between her breasts. She needed out of her clothes. She needed to be touched. She needed  _more_.

As if responding to her thoughts, in one smooth movement Nathanaël locked his hands under her thighs and lifted her so that she rested on his hips as he walked her further back into the house. She kept her arms locked tight around his neck, amazed at his composure as his tongue glided against hers. She was a sighing mess—which was no doubt only going to get worse with how this was going—while he was still in his mind enough to use that skilled tongue on her and walk while carrying her without even looking where he was going.

But by now she knew that this Nathanaël  _was_  Nathanaël when he lost his cool. When he went over the edge.

He set her down on the kitchen counter, her butt coming into contact with the cold marble under her hiked up skirt. His hands went to unbuttoning her blouse and she immediately reached out to loosen his tie, but he snatched up her hands as they fumbled with the silky fabric.

“No,” he said shortly, voice low, even, and utterly commanding. A wave of anticipation rolled through her, heart pounding in her chest as that tone resonated deep within her. He set her hands down on the counter on either side of her. “Keep them here,” he said in that same commanding tone, and she could do nothing more than nod in response.

Then he resumed kissing her and went back to unbuttoning her blouse. Once again she marveled at how he could so effortlessly undress her when her hands were shaking just trying to loosen his tie. This kind of composure—this level of dominance—didn’t come out every time he touched her. But when it did… _wow_.

She sighed in relief as he pushed the fabric of her shirt down off her shoulders. It pooled around her hands and she lifted them to completely rid herself of the article.

Then his hands snatched hers again.

“No.”

She cried out in surprise as his teeth sunk into her neck, a complicated mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. He planted her hands firmly down on the countertop again, her left sleeve still hanging from her wrist. “Keep them here,” he repeated, voice almost deadly this time. She whimpered as he soothed the bite mark with open-mouth kisses, lightly sucking to be sure to leave his mark. He trailed his tongue up to her ear, where his hot breath cascaded over her, sending her mind reeling in intoxication. “Understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered, breathless. Then his teeth nipped on her ear and she jumped.

“Yes?”

“Yes,  _sir_ ,” she corrected.

“Good girl,” he whispered. Her head rolled back and she groaned as the words trickled over her skin. His hands abandoned hers then, coming up to grip her coarsely around the waist. The heat from his palms burned on her bare skin, and she could think of nothing more than how much she wanted his touch lower, where his hips were firmly nestled between her thighs, unmoving.

His mouth ravaged her neck, his tongue, teeth, and lips leaving what she imagined would be quite the series of dark hickies tomorrow, each one making her gasp in excitement. She shifted her hips just the slightest bit, rubbing herself along his length, and pride sparked in her as she felt him harden against her. Not a second later though, his hands had moved to her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he forced her movements to a halt.

“No,” he breathed, bringing his lips back to hers. She whined into his kiss, the intense heat between her legs demanding friction with him pressed so firmly against her. He bit her lip, softly dragging it between his teeth in light warning, then pulled his head away. She opened her eyes to find bright teal ablaze with desire staring into her, almost glowing in the moonlight that trickled in through the open window. “You are going to sit still and let me take you how I want, or you will be punished.” His words left no room for debate. Short of pulling out a safe word—which she had absolutely  _no_  desire to do—this was  _not_ optional.

She shivered at the implications. Before him, she never knew this submissive streak even existed within her, and its presence still astounded her. Why did she love it so much when he took away all her control—all her  _power_? Why did she love having him take her so roughly and making her a moaning, screaming  _mess_?  Why did she  _love_  being helpless and completely at his mercy as he tortured her with her own pleasure? Why did she love him  _dominating_  her?

Perhaps it was quite simply because he  _could_.

Those teal eyes stared into her, waiting. She swallowed nervously before responding, whispering voice trembling with trepidation.

“Yes sir.”


	3. Marco Polo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt “I think this situation could use less clothing.”

“Chloé!” Nathanaël called as he stepped through the front door and dropped his bags on the ground. “Are you home?” He softly shut the door behind him and crouched down to untie his shoelaces. He could distantly hear his wife’s voice responding to him, but he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. “Marco!” he called, moving further into the house once he had rid himself of his shoes and socks. He heard her voice calling  _Polo_  coming from upstairs. “Marco!” he called again as he made his way up the stairs.

“ _Polo!_ ” her voice rang, carrying from the direction of their bedroom.

He arrived to find the bed completely empty and the blonde nowhere in sight. “Marco!”

“Polo!” Her voice was loud and clear then, travelling through the open door to the bathroom. As he approached, he was greeted with the soothing scents of roses and vanilla.

“Marco,” he said softly, poking his head through the door. He smiled just at the sight of her. After three years of dating and five of marriage, Nathanaël could say with utmost honesty that he still found her just as beautiful as he had the very first time he’d drawn her—no, scratch that; she was  _even_   _more_  beautiful.

“Polo,” she said, smiling at him from the other side of the room.

Vanilla rose steam pervaded the room, making the air itself just as warm and pleasant as the woman who had caused it. Chloé watched him approach from the bathtub, only her head visible within the mountain of bubbles she had amassed. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat and her long angelic hair was twisted up in a messy bun atop her head, with a few sweat-slick strands sticking to her forehead and neck.

“Did you know that you’re beautiful?”

Her smile took on skeptical nature as she rolled her eyes. “Well, I  _do_  know that, but I don’t exactly think I’m at my sexiest at the moment.” She lifted an arm from the water to tuck some strands from her forehead back up into the bun.

“Nonsense,” he said, stopping a few steps away and tucking his hands into his pockets. “You’ve never looked better.”

“Oh really?” she asked dryly. She leaned back a bit and raised her foot to rest it on the edge of the tub, leaving her perfectly smooth and gleaming leg on display.

“Really,” he replied, shamelessly ogling her. “I think this should be your everyday look.”

“You think  _naked_  should be my everyday look?” His eyes trailed back up to find her smiling with one eyebrow raised. He approached then, placing his hands on either side of the tub so he could lean down and kiss her. She greeted him in full, placing one wet hand on his cheek and sinking into his lips.

“I think it’s a damn good look on you,” he finally said. A coy smile played at her lips, fingers lingering on his neck. Damn, she was sexy. Maybe it had to do with the steam, the seductive scents in the air, the time removed, or all of the above, but just one look from those sharp blue eyes and his head was already swimming.

“I think this situation could use less clothing,” she said, dropping her hand and leaning back to watch him.

He frowned in confusion. “But you’re already naked.”

She grinned as she rolled her eyes. “Not me, Red. You.”

He stood back up. “You think I should get naked?”

“I think you should join me in here.” She watched him with those powerful blue eyes and withdrew her leg back into the water, tantalizing him with the promise of what waited beneath the surface.

Well he certainly didn’t need to be told twice.

Chloé cocked her head, gaze raking his body as he lifted the hem of his shirt. He smiled out of the corner of his lips. He loved to watch her watch him. He loved the way her eyes darkened with desire as he dropped his shirt on the ground and slowly unbuckled his belt. He watched her eyes as they followed his hand outward from his waist, where he let the belt drop to the floor. She tracked his hand back to front of his jeans and bit her lip as he slowly unbuttoned them.  _Fuck_ , his wife was really hot. Hooking his thumbs under his boxers, he dragged the last of his clothing down to his ankles and stepped toward her.

She finally looked away then as she moved forward in the tub, making room behind her for him to slip in. He hissed as his foot came in contact with the steaming hot water, but he soon adjusted to the temperature and lowered himself all the way in. He reached his hands out under the water and made blessed contact with his wife’s skin, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her backwards into him. She leaned back, warm back settling against his chest, and sighed contentedly.

“I knew this bath was missing something.” She drew in a deep breath, pressing herself against him so that he could feel every inch of her backside on his skin. He immediately felt his arousal grow between them and craned his neck down so as to skim his lips along her jaw.

“I missed you,” he whispered, delighting in the shiver he felt pass through her body.

“That’s what you get for leaving me,” she replied as she reached an arm up to cup the back of his head, sending warm water streaming down the back of his neck. She turned her head and shifted her body so that she could kiss him, her lips slow and seductive as they glided against his.

“You’re right,” he whispered in between kisses. “Visiting family is overrated.” He tilted his head, tentatively probing her mouth with his tongue. Her response was to reach out with her own, dragging him deeper into absolute intoxication. His hand glided over the skin of her waist, traveling up along her ribcage.

She breathed in deep as his thumb skimmed the edge of her breast. “That’s it,” she whispered softly, voice thick with desire. She reached a hand in between them, tantalizing fingers drawing lines down his lower abdomen. He opened his eyes to find hers waiting for him, striking blue burning into him. “Your family isn’t allowed to hold reunions that conflict with my work schedule ever again.” Her hand made blessed contact, fingers closing around him as if to finalize her statement, and he sighed in pleasure, eyelids fluttering closed again.

“Yes, Madame.”


	4. Can I Touch Your Hair?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt "Can I touch your hair?"  
> Chloé wakes up to a surprise the morning after her friends' wedding.

Chloé inwardly sighed when she heard the rustling of fabric over to her right followed by a distasteful groan. She elected to ignore it, at least until she could finish editing the proposal she was working on. Honestly, he had already set her far enough behind schedule as is, he could at least wait another ten minutes so she could still be  _somewhat_  productive that day.

A flicker of bright red moved in her peripheral as he sat up in the bed. She just had to finish this sentenc—

“Ugh,” he grumbled, “I got drunk last night.”

She outwardly sighed this time. “That you did,” she said, hitting save before finally turning in her chair to face him—the artist. He sat upright in her bed with one knee drawn up to rest his elbow on as he rubbed his head and took in his surroundings. Meanwhile, she took him in for the second time that day.

In the six years since she had last seen Nathanaël Kurtzberg, as much as she hated to admit it, he had really grown into his features. His hair was still as obnoxiously red and silky as she remembered it being, only now it was slightly longer—long enough that the two hair ties on his wrist probably went to good use—and his eyes were still that ridiculously pretty shade of blue that had infuriated her back in lycée. That growth spurt that had started to hit him toward the very end of school looked to have continued, but he certainly hadn’t bulked up, leaving him a pale string bean—long and thin. But his thinness didn’t look frail or unhealthy as it sometimes did back in lycée; he seemed to have filled out just enough for his figure to actually look  _good_  despite not containing an ounce of muscle from what she could tell—and she could tell  _a lot_  what with him being completely  _naked_. The only thing that covered him was the sheet she had hastily thrown between his legs when she had first woken up. He didn’t even seem to care to cover himself now that he was awake and she could clearly see him.

She had to force herself not to outright ogle him. As much as she knew that drunk Chloé was absolutely  _insane_  for sleeping with him (The nerdy artist from lycée? Really!?), the sight of him at least explained how it had happened at all. The man was stupidly attractive.

His face scrunched up. “ _Wine_  drunk.”

“As opposed to just regular drunk?”

“Yep,” he said as he leaned back against the headboard, seemingly settling into a comfortable position. Those pretty blue eyes finally fell on her and she marveled at how casual his demeanor was. Did he do this often or was he just that easy going? Knowing the Nathanaël Kurtzberg from lycée, she wasn’t sure which of those possibilities would surprise her more. “Wine drunk is different. I can feel it. Less impulsive and more…” He frowned and squinted his eyes, face scrunching up again. “Wait. Chloé?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You don’t remember?”

He hummed in thought as his eyes drifted up toward the ceiling, searching his memory. “Nope,” he finally said, “last night is a black hole. I remember…the ceremony. And the first dance. And then…nothing.” Damn. And she thought  _she_ had taken advantage of the open bar. His eyes flicked back to her…and then to his lap…and then back to her. Red eyebrows picked up just the slightest bit as if he was only 50% surprised. “This is probably a stupid question, but did we…?”

“Drink copious amounts of red wine and then have sex and pass out? Yep.”

“Huh…” He slowly nodded, holding her gaze as he seemed to take it in. Again, surprisingly chill. “Chloé Bourgeois…” he finally said, as if testing the name on his tongue. “How exactly did that happen? Like, don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty and all, but… Well… I-I didn’t exactly… I mean…” There was the stuttering she remembered.

She watched him struggle for words for a few more seconds with pleasure, before finally deciding not to make him suffer too much. “Don’t fret, Kurtzberg, I hated you too.” She picked up her coffee mug and took a sip as she replayed the night’s events in her mind, finally tracking back to when the artist had first walked up to her. “I believe it started with you asking me if you could touch my hair.”

If she was expecting any sort of surprised or  _what the fuck_  reaction, she didn’t get it. The artist only smiled and rolled his eyes before resting his head back against the headboard. “Man, drunk Nath sure is brave.”

“Brave?”

“To ask  _Chloé Bourgeois_  if he can touch her hair? Yeah. Brave.”

“Are you sure  _brave_  is the word you’re looking for and not  _weird_?”

He stretched his arms up above his head, again seeming  _way too casual_  for the situation. “Nah, I’ve always wanted to touch your hair.”

She nearly spit out the coffee she’d been drinking. “Y-You  _what_?”

He looked back at her then with an eyebrow raised and smirked at whatever expression she was wearing. She quickly shifted her gaze, that bemused look in his eyes doing all sorts of things to her that were no good. “What?”

What? What did he mean  _what_? She pinched the bridge of her nose between a forefinger and thumb. “You… You  _always_  wanted to touch my hair?”

“Yeah,” he replied, completely nonchalant. She could practically hear him shrugging. “Even when I hated you. Couldn’t deny that you were gorgeous.” He paused and she hoped her hand was sufficiently hiding her blushing face from view. “You still are, by the way.” Well if he couldn’t see her blushing before, she doubted he could miss it then.

 _Ugh, get a hold of yourself, Chloé!_  She took a deep breath and straightened up, mentally pushing the red from her face. “I know,” she finally said. That seemed to amuse him.

“Of course you do,” he replied, but it wasn’t a stinging comment like she was used to. In fact, he didn’t seem to think it a bad thing. She might even say he seemed to like it.

He looked her over a moment longer before finally looking away to take in her apartment. “A studio flat?” he remarked, surprise clearly audible in his voice.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no, I just…would never expect Chloé Bourgeois to live in a one-room apartment. Last I checked, your family was still loaded.”

She rolled her eyes. “We are. But at this stage in my life I don’t need any more than this. Besides, it’s extremely nice for a one-room, thank you very much.”

“Hey, I’m not trying to attack you,” he said, raising his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “It’s just very different from the over-the-top life of luxury you lived back in lycée.”

“Yeah, well, living in that big hotel suite for 17 years was enough to teach me that having a lot of space means nothing if there’s no one to fill it.” He looked at her then and she could see that look in his eyes that she hated more than anything—pity. She frowned. Her fault for letting that personal detail slip. “Do you want some coffee?” she asked before he had the chance to say anything, getting up and walking over to the kitchen to refill her own cup.

“Uh, sure…” he mumbled. She could feel his eyes following her across the apartment, watching her as she reached up to get another mug out of the cabinet and then continuing their observation as she poured coffee into it. She ignored him and tried to figure out how she ought to go about getting him out of there. Offering him coffee probably wasn’t the best way to make him leave, but it was the only thing she could think to do to change the subject. Besides, she didn’t altogether  _hate_  his presence. She didn’t really mind if he stayed a bit longer to drink a cup of coffee or two.

He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring as she made her way over to him with a coffee mug in her hand. “Here,” she said as she held it out to him. He reached out both hands to take it and surprised her by lightly clasping onto her wrist before she could pull it away.

“Can I touch your hair?” She blinked down at him, no less confused than she was the first time he had asked. Probably even more so now that there was no alcohol in either of their systems.

“Again?”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember the first time.” She scowled.

“You really want to touch my hair that much?” He merely nodded. Well, he may have gotten hotter, but Nathanaël Kurtzberg certainly hadn’t stopped being weird since lycée. Still…she didn’t really see the harm in granting his wish.

Of course, that was just the excuse she told herself. Really, she couldn’t help but recall the way his long fingers had felt combing through her hair the night before—the way his nails had lightly dragged along her scalp in a soothing sort of gesture, or the way his warm palm had settled against her head in a sweet, almost gentle manner. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to experience that again, as strange as it was.

So she took a seat on the edge of the bed, setting down her own coffee mug on the bedside table. He set his right next to it and then scoot forward, coming way too close to her for how little clothing he was wearing. But somehow, the second his hand was in the air reaching toward her, his lack of clothing didn’t seem to matter anymore. All she could think of was how beautiful he was with that strange look of awe in his eyes as he brushed the tips of his fingers along the hair on her forehead, running it back behind her ear. He drew his fingers straight down along her head until he reached the end of her hair at the base of her neck.

“When did you cut it?” he asked, tone sounding like he was only half-there.

“Last year,” she responded, surprised to find her voice just barely above a whisper. The way he was so outright admiring her, and leaning so close to her—

“It’s really nice.” He let his fingers comb up through her hair from the bottom now, and she wondered if he noticed her shiver as a result.

“Thanks,” she murmured, body sinking into the strangely pleasurable sensation. It was just like whenever she had her hair washed at the salon, except it was somehow so much  _better_. Without that level of professionalism, or that barrier of business…it was so much more intimate.

She realized she had closed her eyes when she felt his breath ghost her cheek. Her eyes opened to find his face mere centimeters from hers, gaze no longer on her hair. Those pretty eyes flicked briefly to her lips before coming back to her as he leaned in closer. Could his kiss really be as good as she remembered? She really ought to have just continued wondering and left that moment, but here the opportunity to find out was presenting itself, and she was nothing if not curious.

Nathanaël’s lips were smooth against hers, his kiss simple yet…intoxicating. This was one detail that her drunken memory certainly hadn’t embellished. His fingers spread on the back of her head and she let herself be pulled into him, opening her mouth to his prodding tongue. The way his tongue danced with hers was somehow better than anything she had ever experienced, and every time his mouth closed a kiss she found herself chasing his lips for another. His fingers running delicate strokes through her hair heightened every sensation. She found herself craving more of his touch the more of it she received, as if he was teasing her by only touching her hair like that. She wanted more than just his fingertips—she wanted his full hands, both of them, and on more than just her head—

She was suddenly reminded of his clothing situation when her hands connected with the naked skin of his shoulders. With a gasp, she disconnected from him, leaping back a ways. Her heart was racing and she was breathing hard. How long had she been kissing him? How far into the state of arousal had she fallen? What was she doing!?

She swallowed nervously as she observed him. He looked just as surprised as she was, and just as breathless. “I-I… Um…” he stuttered, but no coherent words really came out.

“T-That was…” she began, but didn’t really know how to continue.

“Y-Yeah…”

He watched her. And she watched him. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, the slight flush of his cheeks, the way his hand was still floating in the air between them, having still been in her hair. She didn’t know what she was thinking. It was  _Nathana_ _ël Kurtzberg_. Just because he was hot now didn’t make sleeping with him any less of a stupid idea. Even aside from all the possible ramifications of having sex with one of her old classmates—who had once tried to murder her nonetheless—she knew next to nothing about him! All she knew about him was his red hair and his art.

That…and the fact that she really wanted to kiss him again.


	5. Color Outside the Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt: "I don't think you understand"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely have a paint kink.

“I don’t think you understand!” Chloé rebuked, hating how much of a rise he was getting out of her. The artist continued to display his bemused, slightly condescending smirk and general half-interested demeanor, keeping his body and gaze angled toward his painting, even though Chloé knew full well that the total sum of his attention was on her by the way his eyes couldn’t go five seconds without flicking to some part of her. She knew it was an act meant to piss her off—she herself had done it countless times before. She knew that she ought to just give him back the same kind of attitude if she wanted to remain on top in this interaction, but damn it if he would just wipe that perfect little smirk off his perfect little lips—!

“Actually, Madame Bourgeois, I don’t think  _you_  understand,” he replied calmly, nonchalantly picking up a glass of water sitting nearby to take a sip.  _Oh sure, interrupting your own sentence to make me wait, hanging on every word. I see what you’re doing, you’re not fooling anyone_. Chloé stared daggers into his bright teal eyes as the loud music in his studio filled the silence between them. Deep azure streaks of paint remained on the glass as he pulled his hand away. “You hired me to paint a piece and gave me very little direction to work with, granting me autonomy in any of my artistic choices as follows. I painted you a piece that reflected my personal style as a result.”

“You painted something that LITERALLY defies the laws of reality,” she growled through gritted teeth. One red eyebrow rose, drawing attention to the gold studs on either side of it. The redhead finally stopped pretending and turned so that his body—bare, slightly toned, paint smeared chest and all—fully faced her.

“Oh? And which ‘laws of reality’ are you referring to exactly?”

“ALL OF THE COLORS ARE BLEEDING OUTSIDE THE LIMITS OF THEIR OBJECTS,” she exploded. “COLORS DON’T DO THAT.”

Nathanaël shrugged, gaze averting back to his work and lips parting to reveal flawless teeth in a slight grin that made her want to kiss it off of his stupidly attractive face. “Maybe  _your_  colors don’t,” he remarked.

Chloé pinched the bridge of her nose between a finger and thumb. “I’m sorry,” she scoffed. Honestly, why was she even dating this lunatic? “What?!”

“Problem, Madame Bourgeois?”

She looked up to see him looking at her with that stupid smirk again and she  _lost it_. “Yeah,” she began, “I have a problem with YOU. I have a problem with your painting and with your unwillingness to paint me something new and I have a problem with your smug smirk and your  _fuck me_  attitude, and I have a problem with your chest—WHY THE FUCK AREN’T YOU WEARING A SHIRT!? There is paint splattered all over you and it’s even in your hair, shouldn’t you put that up or cut it off or something!?”

Throughout her ranting, the artist merely stood there, paint-covered hands casually resting in the pockets of his loose, paint-splattered jeans, nodding at her assertions. “And I have a problem with the way you’re just standing there,” she continued, “taking all of this, still with that damn smile on your face, as if my berating of you means nothing, as if it even makes you  _happy_ , and—why are you smiling like that? Why are you walking toward me? Nathanaël, I swear to god, if you get paint on me, I’ll—,”

Chloé could feel the smirk still on his lips as they pressed against hers. One hand cupped the side of her face and the other held her waist, pulling her against him. There was definitely blue on her cheek and probably in her hair, and she could only guess how hard it would be to wash off whatever color now painted her shirt. She would likely have to throw it away.

But despite his outright disregard for her orders, Chloé couldn’t bring herself to push him away. The way his lips glided against hers, slow and smooth but full of heat had her sinking into his kiss and twining her fingers in his perfect, soft hair. He nipped her bottom lip and smiled as he pulled his head back. She tried to hide her discontent.

“Not fair,” she whispered, feeling helpless under his gaze. He looked at her like predator to prey, and it made her ache with how much she loved it. He was so disgustingly confident as he smiled down at her because he knew from experience what sort of effect he had on her. “I came here for business, not—,” his grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly and his head inclined just the slightest bit toward her, as if preparing to take a bite, “— _pleasure_.”

He grinned as he craned his neck around to softly bite her ear, letting his bottom teeth drag along the length of it. Chloé shivered in delight. “I’m sorry, Chloé, but those two things just aren’t so black and white for me,” he whispered. The hand which had previously gotten paint on her face drew a line down her spine before slipping under the hem of her shirt, landing with fingers splayed on the small of her back. She groaned as he placed open-mouthed kisses on her neck, sucking just the slightest bit.

“Really?” she breathed. She tightened her hands into fists in his hair and pulled slightly, forcing him away from her neck. It wasn’t exactly punishment though, judging from the soft moan he emitted. “Because this seems like pure pleasure.” He grinned again and caught her lips in a hungry kiss. She could easily pull his hair again to make him stop, but the way he devoured her drew her in. Once again he left her wanting as he pulled himself away.

“On the contrary,  _Madame Bourgeois_ ,” he emphasized her formal name just to tease her. In her present state of composure, she could only muster up a small glare in response. “I’ve now covered you in my paint.” He brought his hand back up to stroke a thumb along her bottom lip for emphasis. “And you don’t seem to be complaining.” He tipped her head up toward him with a finger and thumb on her chin. “I dare say you even want me to continue.” He smirked as heat rose to her cheeks.

“So I’m attracted to the guy I’m seeing, what’s your point?”

He smiled and kissed her again, and she cursed the way it made her blood boil. “My point—,” she watched as he pulled away, lip now displaying the faintest hint of blue paint, “—is that you enjoy coloring outside the lines.”


End file.
